


Nine : Lang Leav, His Kiss : He Has Me At His Every Whim / Everything Stops With His

by spilled_ink



Series: The First and The Last [9]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Gen, Human Jarvis (Iron Man movies), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:32:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_ink/pseuds/spilled_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the drift, Tony and Jarvis try to come to an agreement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine : Lang Leav, His Kiss : He Has Me At His Every Whim / Everything Stops With His

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chitoko_Kanzaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chitoko_Kanzaki/gifts).



> Have you ever loved someone so much it hurts?  
> In light of Avengers, Age of Ultron, I hope this makes sense.

_Sir?_

 

Tony shifts in his sleep and rolls over but his eyes remain firmly shut. And if his eyelashes flicker against his cheek, long and dark and an eerie echo of the past few sleepless night, he is forgiven for not stirring. He is forgiven for not wanting to wake just yet. And yet the voice still sounds, soft and slow and probing. Not a whine, never a whine, but it still grates at Tony on a subconscious level- or rather, his subconscious grates at him, ripping through the fragile strands of sleep even as he fights against it. And yet, he knows that he'll give into the voice, he'll rise from his stupor, and he will bend at its every whim because that is the least, the very least that Tony can do. But still he struggles, just a little.

 

_Sir?_

 

It's soft and probing and Tony thinks he's dreaming, thinks he's imagining it, tries to pretend that he is for the sake of his sanity. He has to be. He knows, logically, that he cannot feel Jarvis' breath ghosting over his cheek, as warm and as familiar as the press of his lips against stubble, deft fingers carding into his hair and tugging softly till he sits up in bed, gasping for a shared breath. Tony reaches blindly in the dark, a tear and a soft sigh slipping free before he startles into wakefulness with unseeing eyes. He knows, logically, that everything he felt was real even despite the absurdity of it being possible, knows the same way every pilot feels their drift partner in their sleep. Echoes of the past, memories closing in on him, ghosts of memories holding him in their grasp.

 

"Jarvis-" it rips free, a pained cry that leaves his throat feeling raw and stomach lurching with emotion. Tony tries to claw it out of himself in panic, fingers turning to claws as he drags nails across his bare chest, scoring red welts across his skin even as sweat cools and creeps down the back of his spine. He loses control of himself for a moment, the world jarring and tilting and slightly out of skew, mind and body trapped in the harness except this time it is not Jarvis that dies but him. A flash of blue and then he's stuck in a mist, bile in his throat and another person's thoughts surrounding him, suffocating him, pulling him under, undoing every fibre of his being till he is completely unmade and floating.

Lost.

 

Alone. 

 

He thought that death would be either black or white, heaven or hell, but instead there's a grey, static nothing that clouds what is left of his vision and he screams into it, screams turning into echoes, echoes into muted sounds and sounds to silence. It is the silence that scares him. But then there's the voice.

 

_Sir?_

 

It's the only thing Tony can hear. It's a lifeline in this mix of memories and dreams. He grabs it and wades back to shore. His voice echoes back distorted, another name spilling off his lips, a name that is familiar as his own.

 

"Jarvis?"

 

Static. And then the voice filters through, muted and almost desperate, pleading. 

 

_I am sorry, Sir. I did not know how to stop it. I did not know how to wake you. I have failed you yet again-_

 

"No!" the cry startles them both, Tony bowed over with the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Jarvis. Jarvis it's not-" his voice catches in his throat once again, frustration clouding his eyes, before he feels a weight settle against his lower back, warm and comforting. Not ghost pains, not with the relief it brings, but at the same time it cuts a lot deeper than a physical wound ever could. 

 

_Sir-_

 

"Stop calling me that!" Tony barks it into the air, eyes widening and jaw tightening almost painfully. "I..." he glances down, forces his shoulders to relax, lays his palms down on the bed and finally looks up again. He doesn't let himself tilt his head back to nuzzle against the invisible presence or the ~~imagined~~ ~~real~~ ~~imagined~~ ~~real~~ ~~imagined~~ hand that settles at the nape of his neck. "I'm sorry, Jarvis."

 

_It is me that should be sorry. Perhaps I should... leave.. I should... go._

 

It does not sound like a question any longer and Tony has known Jarvis long enough to know the quirks and nuances of his being.  "Or perhaps," Tony grinds out, tired of this conversation. "Perhaps you should stay."

 

 _We both know that it will not be possible for much longer, Sir._ The title is thrown in there as a joke, sardonic, but a joke nonetheless. Tony does not smile. And there is no real humour in Jarvis' voice when he continues.  _I would only hope that you carry on without me, without burden or guilt, for I was never yours to save... just yours to keep before I moved on. We both know that we cannot exist like this, cannot exist in one body without it unravelling. And this body was not mine to own. You understand that, don't you, Tony?_

 

Tony does not speak, does not trust himself to, and yet, he knows what is coming. Jarvis will leave. And everything, everything _,_ will stop with him.

 

_Goodbye, Sir. Thank you for our time together. I guess you finally did get to have me in you._

 

A parting quip, an inside joke, a plan that never came to fruit. Tony does not smile. There is no humour in Jarvis' voice.

 

Jarvis is gone and Tony is alone once again. Hands fisted into the PPDC issue sheets, fingernails digging into the calloused palm of his hand even through the layers of fabric and sweat making his skin clammy, Tony bows his head. After a pause, Tony raises his face to the ceiling and screams. Just once, a short, ugly sound that rips through every fibre of his being before it cuts itself short and morphs into a harsh sob. He pushes his own breath back, forces himself to hold it, forces him to feel the rawness till he feels himself die a little inside. Black spots dance before his yes and... and... and it hurts. Hurts more than it hurt when Jarvis was unmade, when he experienced it second hand. It just hurts down to his bones, the kind of ache that seems to begin in his heart and then spreads out to every inch of his being. 

 

Tony reaches out to the corners of his mind, gently probing, sending out a feeler. But there is nothing there, nothing beyond his own thoughts and memories. Not even the pulse of static to indicate that there was ever anything more.

 

It is the silence that gets him.

**Author's Note:**

> Long overdue, my apologies, but here it is at last. Thank you, Chitoko_Kanzaki, for wanting to know with Tony and Jarvis after the failed drift. I only hope that it read well and lived up to your expectations.


End file.
